Suddenly this little woods-girl is horror-stricken to hear a clear whistle not very far away. Not a birds-whistle, which would have a sort of friendliness, but a boys whistle, determined, and somewhat aggressive. Sylvia left the cow to whatever sad fate might await her, and stepped discreetly aside into the bushes, but she was just too late. The enemy had discovered her, and called out in a very cheerful and persuasive tone, Halloa, little girl, how far is it to the road? and trembling Sylvia answered almost inaudibly, A good ways. She did not dare to look boldly at the tall young man, who carried a gun over his shoulder, but she came out of her bush and again followed the cow, while he walked alongside.
I have been hunting for some birds, the stranger said kindly, and I have lost my way, and need a friend very much. Dont be afraid, he added gallantly. Speak up and tell me what your name is, and whether you think I can spend the night at your house, and go out gunning early in the morning.
Sylvia was more alarmed than before. Would not her grandmother consider her much to blame? But who could have foreseen such an accident as this? It did not seem to be her fault, and she hung her head as if the stem of it were broken, but managed to answer Sylvy, with much effort when her companion again asked her name.
Mrs. Tilley was standing in the doorway when the trio came into view. The cow gave a loud moo by way of explanation.
Yes, youd better speak up for yourself, you old trial! Whered she tucked herself away this time, Sylvy? But Sylvia kept an awed silence; she knew by instinct that her grandmother did not comprehend the gravity of the situation. She must be mistaking the stranger for one of the farmer-lads of the region. The young man stood his gun beside the door, and dropped a lumpy game-bag beside it; then he bade Mrs. Tilley good-evening, and repeated his wayfarers story, and asked if he could have a nights lodging.
Put me anywhere you like, he said. I must be off early in the morning, before day; but I am very hungry, indeed. You can give me some milk at any rate, thats plain.
Dear sakes, yes, responded the hostess, whose long slumbering hospitality seemed to be easily awakened. You might fare better if you went out to the main road a mile or so, but youre welcome to what weve got. Ill milk right off, and you make yourself at home. You can sleep on husks or feathers, she proffered graciously. I raised them all myself. Theres good pasturing for geese just below here towards the mash. Now step round and set a plate for the gentleman, Sylvy! And Sylvia promptly stepped. She was glad to have something to do, and she was hungry herself.
It was a surprise to find so clean and comfortable a little dwelling in this New England wilderness. The young man had known the horrors of its most primitive housekeeping, and the dreary squalor of that level of society which does not rebel at the companionship of hens. This was the best thrift of an old-fashioned farmstead, though on such a small scale that it seemed like a hermitage. He listened eagerly to the old womans quaint talk, he watched Sylvias pale face and shining gray eyes with ever growing enthusiasm, and insisted that this was the best supper he had eaten for a month, and afterward the new-made friends sat down in the door-way together while the moon came up.
Soon it would be berry-time, and Sylvia was a great help at picking. The cow was a good milker, though a plaguy thing to keep track of, the hostess gossiped frankly, adding presently that she had buried four children, so Sylvias mother, and a son (who might be dead) in California were all the children she had left. Dan, my boy, was a great hand to go gunning, she explained sadly. I never wanted for patridges or gray squerls while he was to home. Hes been a great wandrer, I expect, and hes no hand to write letters. There, I dont blame him, Id ha seen the world myself if it had been so I could.
Sylvy takes after him, the grandmother continued affectionately, after a minutes pause. There aint a foot o ground she dont know her way over, and the wild creatures counts her one o themselves. Squerls shell tame to come an feed right out o her hands, and all sorts o birds. Last winter she got the jay-birds to bangeing here, and I believe shed a scanted herself of her own meals to have plenty to throw out amongst em, if I hadnt kep watch. Anything but crows, I tell her, Im willin to help support, though Dan he had a tamed one o them that did seem to have reason same as folks. It was round here a good spell after he went away. Dan an his father they didnt hitch, but he never held up his head agin after Dan had dared him an gone off.
The guest did not notice this hint of family sorrows in his eager interest in something else.
So Sylvy knows all about birds, does she? he exclaimed, as he looked round at the little girl who sat, very demure but increasingly sleepy, in the moonlight. I am making a collection of birds myself. I have been at it ever since I was a boy. (Mrs. Tilley smiled.) There are two or three very rare ones I have been hunting for these five years. I mean to get them on my own ground if they can be found.